


Slayer and Thief

by Xeno_Prototype



Category: Goblin Slayer (Manga), Styx: Master of Shadows
Genre: Carnage - Freeform, Conspiracies, Extremely Reluctant Tag Team, Human Supremacists, I haven't caught up with the LN or Manga recently, My First Fanfic, No Beta, Not Canon Compliant, Original Characters - Freeform, Priestess and company may appear, Primarily Goblin Slayer Universe, Styx isn't really Styx, This is literally the best crossover, au elements, demon king, dual protagonists, pre-canon events, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xeno_Prototype/pseuds/Xeno_Prototype
Summary: In a remote land, in a small nest of goblins, an unusually crafty goblin is born. It grows quickly and develops an odd series of quirks that drive it to pursue a distinctly un-goblin lifestyle.In a small town near the Capitol, a 15 year old Goblin Slayer decides to join a well funded organization from abroad. It claims its sole purpose is the complete eradication of goblins, and goes by the name CARNAGE.Through a series of increasingly bizarre circumstances, the two find their paths crossing far more frequently than either would care for. Which is to say, at all.The die has been cast, but whether or not they accept the results is up to them. Their fates are what they make of them, and no god or devil can stop the ultimate tag team.





	1. Humble Beginnings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I especially do not own Styx: Master of Shadows or Goblin Slayer.
> 
> Here we go. First fanfic. No experience. No beta. Rough outline. Fox only. Final Destination.
> 
> This first part is incredibly awkward to read, but you're tough enough to make it through.

Amber eyes snapped open.

Several disjointed and barely formed thoughts began to tumble around an infantile mind.

Almost immediately they squinted at the far too bright lights, and a number of blurry shapes moving back and forth in front of them.

The world was muffled and dull. Only an ever present and rhythmic thumping could be heard from somewhere close by.

The lights – they were moving too, flickering about like they were dancing to that pulsating beat. Red, orange, yellow, and several hues in between. The lights hurt. They were bad.

Those same amber eyes blinked open and closed several more times, and then movement could be felt. The moving shapes in front of the bad lights, they were dark – covered in shadows. The shadows moved with the light. The shapes were green.

Green was good.

Shadow was good.

They didn't hurt. There was more movement and the shadows and lights and green and red all moved and then there was brown. Brown was fast and big.

Ow.

Brown hurt, but then it didn't. Everything went black and shadowy for a while, but then it went back to normal. Brown was back. Brown became red, and then everything was red. Red made things better. Brown became soft, and redder, much redder.

Soft was good.

Soft and wet. Soft and wet and red was best. Then it got too wet, and it got cold. Cold wasn't good, but cold came from wet, and wet came from red. Was red really bad all along?

Probably – red was okay, but too much and it was bad. Maybe.

The world was coming into focus, and the pulsations began to fade away. It wasn't muffled anymore, and something loud and painful was there instead. Loud and high. Loud was bad. Quiet was better.

It smelled sweet.

It smelled sweet, until it didn't. Then it just smelled. Sweet is short. Sweet goes away too quickly. Sweet should last forever.

Quiet and soft and sweet. Dark, but not wet and cold – that was the best. Maybe a little red, but not too much.

Amber eyes glowed slightly as they opened to full, and they began truly identifying the world around them.

The lights; fire. The green; Goblins. The red; blood. The loud; screaming. The brown; ground. The sweet... Amber eyes shifted towards the now faintly whimpering things. They were covered in red.

The sweet… Human Girls

Suddenly the Goblin was aware of its own small green body, and the fact that it was a Goblin in the first place.

The greatest realization of all came mere moments after its birth. It was alive. It was thinking. The miracle of sentient thought snapped into focus and tingled with electricity along its billions of synapses and nerves. Sensation, motivation, and biological inclinations all melded into a grand tapestry called sentience. But that tapestry, for all its complexity and craftsmanship, was not necessarily a thing of beauty.

The Goblin's tiny tongue moved involuntarily, slipping out of its mouth and slithering along its lips hungrily.

The Goblin’s amber eyes glowed in the shadows, reflecting the faint, dying embers of the torches. It had no problems seeing in the dark, but the world faded into muted shades of grey, taking with it all of the colors it had come to know. To these sharp eyes though, even those miniscule flecks of ash and burning motes were enough to see the crimson glow of blood. The Goblin followed the trail of blood with its gaze, and looked once more upon the now unmoving Human Girl closest to it.

Their gazes locked for the briefest of moments.

Amber eyes met shimmering, vibrant blue ones. There was something profound in that expression, but the Goblin could not yet understand it. The Human Girl's gaze fell away as the body went limp, and a raspy, rattling noise could be heard faintly. The vibrant blue faded to gray like everything else, and the empty gaze turned glassy.

At that moment, there was yet another flash of something profound in the Goblin's mind, and it struggled to understand what it could be. This was harder to grasp than colors and shapes had been.

The sweet smell was gone now. Gone completely. Now it just smelled.

This was death?

Death ended the sweet.

Death was bad?

Something told the Goblin this was somehow wrong, but it was also right. It was too confusing, and soon biological imperatives kicked in to clear up the confusion in its budding mind.

It was hungry.

It licked its lips again, and flailed its limbs until it somehow moved closer to what remained of the formerly sweet smell. Eventually a pattern emerged, and its movements became slightly more efficient. It drew close, and other Goblins big and small were already there tearing into the Human Girls with their teeth and sharp hands and long things.

The goblin had nothing long like them, and its hands were too dull. Perhaps it had teeth though?

As it opened its mouth wide and lunged its head forward, it felt the meaty, wet sensation of teeth piercing flesh for the first time, and it knew it was right.

It ate until it was full. Full was good, but it didn't taste very good. It tasted cold. Cold was bad.

Death was cold.

So death was bad after all? Yet again something seemed odd about that, and the Goblin pondered on it for several more hours.

In the dark, bloodstained caves, it pondered a great many things. It pondered, and observed, and learned.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Man with slate grey eyes and stern, rectangular features drummed his fingers idly on the wooden table. His eyes traveled around the room sluggishly, as if it were a great effort to maintain any Illusion of alertness. Eventually they settled on a few fine looking young Maidens, and one whose collarbones just barely peaked out from the collar of her dress tantalizingly.

He eyed her smooth, fair skin for a while before he finally settled his attention back on the wooden mug before him.

He had come to this tavern in hopes of recruiting more willing participants for the initiative, but so far not a single person had bothered to even take one of his fliers. His expression twisted into a miserable scowl, and he lifted the mug to his lips heavily. This was his fifth one, but then again he'd been here for hours already. At this point he had more of a headache than a buzz.

The Man was not exactly inconspicuous with his heavy full plate and foreign white tabard, but his aging features and receding brown hairline seemed to just naturally make him fade into the background. That said, this was reputed to be a hotspot for adventurers and mercenaries in this region. In a place like this, the uncommon became the new common.

It wasn't entirely out of the question to see others wearing heavy armor of some kind, or outlandishly scandalous looking leather getups, as they bragged about their accomplishments to anyone who would listen. Most of them had some measure of youth to them, and were overeager to prove themselves, so naturally an older man such as himself couldn't really appeal in the same way.

They were quite an eccentric bunch, really.

The problem he faced was getting said eccentrics to care about his small display in the corner of the tavern. He'd set out a number of fliers, placed a wooden sign in front, and even offered complimentary drinks for anyone who would listen. At first it seemed like he'd catch some interest with that last one, but as soon as he got down to the brass tacks and explained exactly what his ‘exciting opportunity' consisted of…

Well, the response was always something along the lines of ‘Ah, sorry? You want me to do what now? You mean full time?’ and poor attempts at feigning interest, while trying to escape the conversation as politely as possible.

Or just outright laughter from one or two of those tactless jackasses.

He sighed, and slowly dragged his index finger along the grooves and grain of the table. The Man looked up at the dwindling crowd of patrons, and then towards the Owner. The portly looking fellow was cleaning off the bar's countertop with a rag, and glanced back as if just remembering that the Man was still there.

Obviously the Owner had given permission for this arrangement, but it was beginning to look like he was about to be asked to cut it short. Frankly, that seemed like the most reasonable option right now. Cut his losses and try again when the sun was out somewhere else.

It was a failure, yes, but he really couldn't be blamed for it. Not entirely.

The culture around here was worryingly nonchalant about the growing threat he was crusading against. Nobody seemed to believe him when he explained just how quickly the problem was multiplying. It was willful ignorance at best, or a blatant disregard for the safety of others at worst.

The Adventurer's Guilds were a fantastic and well implemented example of capitalism and self-regulating systems, but it was not without flaws. Word of major threats such as the Demon King's generals spread quickly, and were highly desirable due to the vast rewards that were offered for taking on such tasks. Smaller, less dangerous threats were handled locally and only paid comparatively small amounts.

For that reason, dealing with a Bugbear or a rampaging Owlbeast would only show up on one or two nearby guild boards, while a Dragon attack would be all over the region. The number of people drawn to the large reward for the Dragon would be great, while the Bugbear could go unchecked for a long time before someone suitably skilled in that specific area saw it and decided to take the job.

Most of the time the job requests for smaller threats like Mudcrabs and Worgs had lower rewards, as they were often placed by individuals or small villages who had pooled their resources. They simply weren't as appealing, or worth the risk and time investment compared to other, more difficult jobs.

Truthfully, many of the major requests were issued and subsidized by the region's government itself, hence the reason for such absurdly high and coveted rewards being even remotely possible.

With the deep pockets of the nobility, having a job request of such scale and caliber spread across the entirety of the guild would be only be the natural next step. With enough money, even mountains could surely be moved.

The Man scowled and drained the last bit of his drink before starting to pack up his fliers.

He remembered a time when people instead said that faith could supposedly do the same. It seemed that people truly no longer cared about the greater good, or devoting themselves to a cause for purely altruistic reasons.

He scoffed, and one of the fliers slipped from his grip, and floated down by the leg of a table. The Man moved to pick it up.

He mused to himself that it wasn't all that bad – the rank system had been a stroke of brilliance that both prevented excessive loss of life and helped to keep smaller jobs competitively priced. Gating jobs based on experience and completion numbers was a step in the right direction to be sure, but it still led to various problematic situations.

There was still a massive threat hiding in plain sight after all, and it seemed everyone was either content to ignore it, or just too incompetent to handle it.

He reached for the stray piece of paper on the ground, but young, leather gloved hands reached it first. The Man smiled kindly and glanced up at the one before him, but his smile became frozen once he saw the Boy. His greeting died on his lips before he could give the words life.

The Man slowly straightened up and scrutinized the Boy carefully.

The Boy was of average build, and lightly armored in cheap, hardened leather that lacked any extravagance or style. It certainly wasn't anything like the scantily clad vixen who'd been playing adventurer a few hours ago. A rusted metal buckler that had obviously seen far too much use was strapped to one arm, while a short blade of some type remained sheathed at his waist.

He didn't look impressive at all, but it wasn't his equipment or age that gave the Man pause – no, it was something else. The young Boy's face was handsome for his age, but it was utterly blank and devoid of expression in a way that couldn't be faked. His gaze was focused and unwavering as he scanned the flier mechanically from left to right, back and forth in complete silence. For a second, the simple, unkempt brown bangs hid the Boy's eyes, and the Man could almost believe he'd imagined seeing it... But the Boy finished reading and looked up.

There it was. There could be no doubt now - he'd seen these eyes before in only the most devout and dedicated of his comrades.

Those hazel eyes were cold as ice, but all it took was a second to realize the truth they hid. An all-consuming purpose that defined one's entire being. A raging inferno that blazed in the deepest depths of the coldest blizzard. This Boy had seen hell, and it lived on within him. The gleam of madness deep within those eyes, barely restrained and shackled by an unbreakable will.

“-------"

The Man shivered for a brief moment at the frost in the teen's voice, and then steadied his shaking hands. His smile became real, and he felt excited at the thought of recruiting him.

This Boy, who despite not even being an adult yet, held a presence few could scarcely have imagined. He would be an amazing asset in the war against the Green Plague should he be properly trained.

“I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Could you repeat yourself?” the Man asked.

“Goblins.” The Boy repeated in a monotone.

“What about them?” The Man inquired.

“I asked if you only slay Goblins.” The Boy's question was more of a statement. There was no uncertainty.

The Man smiled and nodded.

“That is correct. Would you like to slay Goblins too?” the Man had a feeling he already knew the answer, but he asked anyways, hiding the hope in his heart.

“Yes.” Without hesitation. Instantly. There was no delay between the end of the Man's question and the beginning of the Boy's response.

The Man could only laugh with mirth at the Boy's eagerness and zeal. This was an ideal candidate, who turned this entire failed venture into a success. He didn't think his grin could stretch any wider, but he proved himself wrong and achieved something akin to a snarl.

The Crusader was quite sure he looked a little mad, but couldn't bring himself to care at the moment.

“Well spoken! CARNAGE has so much to teach you. Welcome aboard my Boy, I'm sure we'll make a fine Goblin Slayer out of you yet..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We need more Goblin Slayer fanfic authors, otherwise you'll keep getting stuff like this from noobs like me.
> 
> Please comment and feed my budding ego.


	2. Of Steel and Steal

The Crusader was perplexed.

There really wasn't anything else he could say for it. They had packed up and left town almost immediately. Along the way, the Crusader had taken the time to try and assess the Boy.

He was exceptional. His skills, creativity, and zeal had all clearly been honed rigorously before this point. Whenever questioned about his previous training, the Boy simply said:

“I practiced. A lot.”

Any conversations that weren't related to Goblins were quickly ended with bland, monosyllabic responses, or outright ignored. Those that were relevant to the Boy's singular, obsessive interest proved enlightening once the Crusader managed to pry out the important details. Which brought up the Boy's one critical flaw.

He was not a team player.

Standing in the midmorning sun with numerous other CARNAGE recruits in fresh, gleaming silver armor, was a raggedy looking, soot stained thing in the shape of a human. If you squinted, it kind of resembled the Boy. But not much.

“What have you done to your armor Boy?!” The Crusader was aghast.

Shortly after being acquired, the Boy was brought to their regional headquarters in the Capitol and outfitted with a brand new, high quality set of armor bearing the CARNAGE emblem. He was meant to don it with pride, and wear it while laying waste to the Green Plague. What the boy had actually showed up to their drills in was clearly not the lustrous plates and white tabard that had been fit for him.

“I improved it.” was the simple response.

The monotone voice would have come across as arrogant to anyone else, but the Crusader understood the Boy's mentality on a fundamental level. This was not arrogance per say, but direct and concise communication born of experience and necessity. Only the information that was important needed to be shared. In the Boy's eyes, anything else such as pleasantries, were unnecessary and wasted time.

It was only thanks to this innate understanding of the Boy that the Crusader was able to keep his temper in check. The boy had literally butchered an expensive piece of full plate after all.

“Explain your reasoning. From where I stand all I see is you needlessly damaging your own equipment and wasting resources that could have been spent on killing more Goblins.” Came the Crusader's stern command.

The Crusader kept his tone even and eyed the boy carefully, analyzing the armor's modifications. Despite his irritation, he was genuinely curious what this seeming prodigy's logic was. When he looked closer, he could see some potential reasons.

Originally, the armor had been a gleaming set of silver full plate, with deep crimson trim. The wearer's digits were meant to be shielded by long, elegant gauntlets, with an overhanging flap of metal that guarded the knuckles from any attempts at severing exposed fingers. Thick, segmented greaves were designed to protect the wearer's legs efficiently, where Goblins were most likely to attack due to their diminished stature. A collar guard shielded the back of the wearer's neck against the unlikely situation that a Goblin could reach high enough to go for a sneak attack on their blind spot. Hanging over the breastplate would have been a brilliant white tabard emblazoned proudly with the sigil of CARNAGE, but even that was tarnished.

Perhaps the easiest feature that the Crusader could understand removing was the pair of curved horns extending outwards on either side of the helm, designed purely for the sake of intimidating the Green Filth. Once again, the Crusader was struck by how everything the Boy had come out to practice in looked nothing like all of that.

“Very well.” The Boy nodded, and began explaining his modifications in what had to have been the most he'd spoken since they met.

“If the goal was to kill a single Goblin in a direct confrontation, then the armor you gave me would have been perfectly suited. Without flaw. But for the task at hand, it was insufficient.” at that claim, murmurs broke out amongst the other recruits, who had remained respectfully silent up until now.

The drill session was taking place in the courtyard of the Fairfax Estate, one of the organization's greatest backers in the region, and an important business partner. For the most part the family's head was content to shovel gold into CARNAGE's war chest with little to no prodding. Human supremacists were easy to convince, especially those who had lost loved ones to the Green Plague.

Full plate was expensive stuff, but second to none in terms of protection. Most people would look at the massive budget being funneled into CARNAGE, then look at their 'kill Goblins' manifesto, and think ‘severe overkill' instead. Keeping that in mind, calling full plate ‘insufficient' compared to the leather, chainmail, and plate hybrid the Boy had frankensteined together was understandably baffling.

The Crusader raised his hand to silence the recruits and nodded, gesturing for the Boy to elaborate.

“And what is the task at hand, if not to kill goblins?” he asked.

“To exterminate them all.” There it was again, that chill of absolute conviction.

The Crusader was pleased with the response, but it didn't explain the whole armor debacle. As if sensing the oncoming prompt, the Boy continued.

“The first problem was that it was too reflective. Goblins tend to favor dark places such as caves, and are more active at night. Torches are usually necessary, but reflective or bright equipment will only make the wearer an easier target in the dark. I rubbed ashes, leaves and charcoal into the leather, and scraped the paint and metal of the plate until it no longer shined.” the Boy explained.

It was sound logic and the Crusader could easily understand it, having done something similar himself during his previous life as a Mercenary. Still, appearances did matter - especially when recruiting or securing additional funding. The importance of the organization's public appearance would doubtlessly be lost on the Boy, so for now the Crusader let the matter slide. Still...

“The same reason you dyed the tabard black I'll wager?” that one was a little less negotiable. Their emblem needed to be displayed clearly at all times. The boy shook his head.

“Dye would likely produce a noticeable odor to a Goblin's nose, so I didn't use any. It was mostly the same things I used on the leather.” As expected, the Boy clearly missed the disapproval in the Crusader's voice.

“And the reason you've stripped the plate down in favor of leather?” Appearances and recognizability aside, that was the main problem here. At the end of the day the aesthetics were secondary to survival.

“Mobility.” the boy answered, as if that one word explained everything.

Ah, so he was back to monosyllabic answers again then? That wouldn't do. Although the Crusader could already infer a number of valid lines of reasoning behind that single word alone, the Boy needed to be able to explain things better. He needed to try and engage the Boy more.

“You'd sacrifice so much protection in favor of mobility?" The Crusader asked, beginning to circle the Boy like a shark, but the Boy remained undaunted and tracked him with his head. The Crusader continued his inquiry by slipping in some common knowledge.

"Your legs are barely protected right now, I'd have at least expected you to keep your greaves fully intact. They're arguably more important than your chest when it comes to Goblins. All it takes is one arrow to the knee, and your vaunted mobility becomes crippled. If that arrow happens to be poisoned or dipped in their own filth, then the problem becomes compounded with long-term health risks.” The Boy was not stupid, and the Crusader wanted to know what he was thinking here.

“Protecting your legs is good." The Boy admitted.

"They're the first place Goblins will target given their height, but you're seldom dealing with a single Goblin. Weighing yourself down and restricting your movement just gives them an opportunity to surround and dogpile you. At that point no amount of armor will save you.” A chilling declaration, but entirely factual for a solo adventurer who lacked any backup or support.

The crusader applauded lightly and said as much.

“Correct, however in CARNAGE you will rarely be operating alone. The presence of similarly trained and equipped allies acting as a cohesive unit is meant to offset and cover these weaknesses. In a scenario where formation was broken what you're saying would hold merit, but even then you'll have training to deal with that and quickly regroup.” The Boy visibly paused for a brief moment, as though only realizing he'd have allies just now.

Honestly, that was probably the case given what he knew about the Boy already.

The Boy regained his clarity quickly, and shook his head negative.

“Goblins are individually weak, but they aren't stupid. They litter their territories with traps that can throw groups into disarray, and launch ambushes in an instant. I don't know much about formations, but I do know that Goblins are good at capitalizing on openings.” The Boy admitted carefully.

His unfamiliarity with teamwork was beginning to show more clearly now. The boy quickly reasserted his position

“Nests that have a Shaman or a Hobgoblin will be able to bypass most of the benefits of full plate anyways through either magical attacks, or brute strength that exceeds regular human capacities. It's better to protect the largest and most important surfaces with plate, and leave the joints free with leather. Chainmail generally makes too much noise and alerts Goblin sentries, but can be used to protect vital regions like the neck or liver from a blade in the dark.” The Boy's conclusion was valid, and despite himself the Crusader found himself beginning to agree with the stance of someone less than half his age.

Still, the Boy was locked into the mindset of a solo operator. The Crusader would need to help him break out of that habit and look at other options. The boy could be incredibly imaginative in some ways, yet also very narrow-minded in others.

“It's true that caves and the like do tend to restrict formations and limit available space quite severely for those who are not small sized." The Crusader conceded, before launching his rebuttle.

"That said, there are some aspects of the theory behind good formations that you will find vital, and can be used to improvise on the fly. Not only that, but there are certain group tactics we have developed which are even more effective and can only be performed in tight quarters. You will be taught these techniques, and become a far more effective Goblin Slayer with them at your disposal.” The Crusader felt agreeing with the Boy and respecting his experiences was all well and good, but the Boy still needed to be assured that there was actually something he could learn from CARNAGE. A reminder that maintaining his membership was worth the time and effort.

“I see.” The boy stated, giving an almost imperceptible tilt of his head.

The other recruits were listening attentively, no longer quite as skeptical of the scruffy looking youth’s claims. This didn't sound like a superior dressing down a rookie for insubordination, rather it sounded more like two veterans planning and preparing an attack together.

The Boy continued his explanation without being prompted, and moved his hands around a bit as though grasping at imaginary weapons.

“Often times your weapon will become slicked with too much blood to properly keep hold, or you'll need to discard it as a ranged attack. In those cases, it is better to simply take a goblin weapon and use it instead. Some of them may be undersized or unusually shaped, making a gauntlet's grip uncomfortable and loose. Leather gloves allow for more dexterity when making improvised traps or using unfamiliar weaponry. Being able to reach a health or stamina potion easily in a critical moment can also be the difference between life and death.” The Boy finished bluntly, and the courtyard was quiet for a moment when it was clear he had nothing else to say.

This was good, the Boy was opening up and speaking more than a few words at a time.

The other recruits seemed dumbfounded, and slightly awed. There were only about a dozen attending this drill, but they ranged a gamut of ages and professions. A few were the Boy's age and clearly green, but some were genuine adventurers and former soldiers. Those with combat experience were surprised by such insight for his age, and those without it simply nodded along, taking his words at face value.

Somehow, this deadpan, obsessive teenager had developed a measure of charisma purely by accident.

Marvelous, simply marvelous. This Boy spoke with the certainty of one who had personally experienced this exact scenario several times already, and had evolved into an entity of pure pragmatism as a result.

The Boy continued to stare blankly at the Crusader, his expression hidden behind the iron bars of his helm.

“Was there anything else?” the Boy asked, as if sensing the awkward silence encroaching on the courtyard.

“Not really, I'm sure that you removed the horns to keep them from getting grabbed or hooked on anything in tight quarters.” The Crusader smiled and shrugged.

It wasn't even a question really. The Crusader thought they were silly himself. That's why his own custom helm lacked them.

“Yes.” a nod.

The Crusader let out a long, hearty chuckle at the Boy's confirmation. This was fine. He didn't mind the Boy breaking protocol when he could find no fault in his logic. Besides, something told him that forcing the issue right now would drive the Boy away, rather than convincing him to go against his instincts.

“Well my Boy, I am satisfied with your explanation. Your logic is sound, and I'm not going to make you go back and change.” The Crusader walked forwards and clapped a hand on the less armored shoulder of their new star recruit.

“The only thing I do ask of you is that in the future, you communicate this kind of thing before we spend the money to outfit you with high end equipment. Every gold piece wasted on unwanted equipment is a gold piece that could be spent on exterminating the Green Plague.” The twinkle in his eyes is not unfriendly, and his tone was slightly jovial, but it was a chastisement all the same.

“I will do that.” The boy nodded, and through the bars of his helmet the Crusader thought he could make out one of the boy's hazel eyes in the brief moment that the sunlight glinted off of it.

He turned back to the rest of the group, hand still attached to the boy's shoulder, and called out.

“The same goes for the rest of you. For now, we will be continuing with this drill in your current armor setups, but if you have any questions or suggestions regarding equipment that you think would be helpful, speak to me or the Quartermaster. Don't ever hesitate to innovate. I'll be looking into the possibility of officially altering our uniforms sometime this week.” His voice was loud and clear, making sure that everyone understood his authority on the matter.

Only a few of the new recruits, namely the former soldiers and adventurers gave him verbal confirmations or salutes. They'd have to work on that some time.

“Alright, we've burned enough daylight on this already, let's get started on some warm ups and move on to the actual training session!” he clapped once, and started the group off with basic exercises to get them used to their armor.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Biting, clawing, gnashing, writhing.

Green thumbs and sharpened fingertips dug deeply into green flesh. Yellow eyes bulged and feverish gasps for air failed. Amber eyes glowed faintly with something like malice - or at least they appeared that way to the one dying.

There was no red as the one beneath the Goblin struggled one last time to break free, and went limp. The Goblin held on for a long time after that, gripping the throat tightly all the while. At last, it let go.

It had been a dispute over food, as most things tended to be.

The Goblin had grown quickly, as its kind tended to, and sustenance was a hard fought resource that all desired, especially in the time of growth. Those who could not sate their adolescent appetites could not hope to grow to their fullest, and that made taking their shares even easier for those who had already secured their own. That wasn't even taking into account the greed of adults or Hobgoblins.

To put it simply, it was only natural for the distance between those on top and those on the bottom to grow ever greater.

This Goblin was one of those who took from others. There was no remorse or guilt in this action – it was simply the way things were. If it didn't then others would take from it. It took pride in the act of taking, and doing so without the others even noticing. Taking was great, but stealing meant it didn't have to deal with the angry, violent aftermath. It was like cheating the system in a way.

That thought always gave it a tiny thrill.

The Goblin continued to grow rapidly, but it was nearing the time of maturity. It was unlikely to mature into a Hobgoblin due to the scarcity of food in these parts and its unusual diet, but it was already much larger than most of its generation due to its consistent supply. The secret to its growth was the reason that the one beneath it had to die.

The Goblin had loosened its grip on the green corpse's throat only once it was sure there was no life left in it. High above the canopy of leaves swayed peacefully, and the faint glimmer of blue peeked through to bathe the hidden glade in light. It was almost as though the forest was completely unaware of the brutal murder that had just taken place within it, and birds continued to chirp in the midmorning sun unabated.

Slowly, tiredly, the Goblin blinked its amber eyes and rubbed away the sand piling within the corners. Rest could come later, first it had to deal with the body.

The Goblin dragged the bloodless young corpse out of the glade, an easy task thanks to the size discrepancy between the two. Even Goblins understood that making a mess where you ate was a bad thing. Although, what a Goblin considered a ‘mess' differed quite a bit from a more civilized species.

It seemed a shame to let meat go to waste, but it was more important to keep its food supply safe and secret. That, and the Goblin had secretly already tried cannibalism. It could safely conclude from its experiments that yes, much like other food, Goblins tasted about as nasty as they smelled.

For reference, most goblins carried a distinct blend of aromas that laid somewhere between rancid and fetid. Unfortunately, once the Goblin had smelled itself out of curiosity, it couldn't unsmell itself.

It made a point of carefully cleaning itself in the stream every few days after that.

Casually, the Goblin made its way to a stone outcropping after a few minutes of dragging the body by the ankle, and glanced down. Over the ledge a rushing stream of cool blue water wound about, splashing and foaming against the stone. It was deep enough and fast enough here. The body went sailing over the edge like a ragdoll seconds later, and went careening downstream. Where it ended up, the Goblin didn't care - just so long as its kin didn't find it.

Infighting wasn't anything unusual, but everything had limits - especially in a time of scarcity like this. Goblins who killed too many of their kin were quickly identified as threats to the nest and put down. It wasn't out of any kind of pack instinct, or a genuine desire to protect one another, but rather the fear of being next.

They had taken in a wandering Hobgoblin some time before the Goblin's birth, and it had quickly proven itself more trouble than it was worth. Feeding the Hobgoblin quickly became unsustainable, and it began killing and taking from others in excess to maintain its gluttonous lifestyle. It was too strong to be directly opposed, even by their Shaman leader, so it went largely uncontested until some time after the Goblin's birth.

The Shaman simply ordered the rest of the nest to mob it in its sleep one day.

While it was true that the gap between the top and bottom naturally grew all the time, the power of numbers and treachery alike could always reset it back to zero. This was the fear that those who took from others had to bear. It was simply affirmation for the Goblin's habit of sneaky stealing.

The Goblin had come to realize these things during its many hours clambering through the trees and pondering in the depths of the cave. It had quickly come to the conclusion it was not like the others, dumb and ruled purely by instincts. It was most likely destined to necome a Shaman thanks to its foresight and quick mind.

That said, it was still in its time of growth and it had already made the mistake of killing a number of its kin where others could see. Hindsight was clearly superior to foresight, but only the latter was of any real use to anyone.

It hadn't missed the suspicious glances and yellow gazes that followed it. The one it had just killed had been following it around for the past few days, doing its best to avoid letting the Goblin know and failing miserably. The Goblin's imbecilic brood mate was more of an annoyance than a threat, but it did mean going to its hidden glade without revealing it was impossible.

On top of that, the Goblin hadn't been sure if their Shaman had put it up to the task or not. The Shaman was more clever than the rest, and their unofficial leader. It hadn't said or done anything yet, but the Goblin didn't like the way the Shaman looked at it whenever it came back from the surface. There was no way it missed how much larger the Goblin was than its starving kin, but after several days without access to its secret food source, hunger had forced the Goblin's hand despite the risk.

It had been a simple matter for the Goblin to double back on its own tracks, and wait in the treetops above. Its stalker hadn't even the faintest clue of what was going on when the Goblin dropped down on it and stunned it with a blow to the back of the head. That alone should have been enough to knock it out, but by some fluke it remained conscious just long enough to feel the Goblin wrap its hands around its throat and begin squeezing.

The rest didn't need explaining. It was a quick, clean, and efficient kill. In hindsight, it wasn't really much of a dispute, was it?

The Goblin nodded to itself and glanced around at its surroundings briefly before heading back to the glade.

The land up top was colorful, to say the least. Something rare and vibrant, compared to the muted greys and various shades of black within the nest. Shadow was all well and good, but the Goblin craved more – a half forgotten memory of colors and sounds and a smell so wonderfully sweet haunted its dreams.

The tall, brown and white trees were cast in a golden glow by the sun's rays, soft and imperceptible. Green was everywhere, above in the leaves, and below the Goblin's bare feet, crunching and rustling quietly with every light step. Shadows from the canopy above filtered down and speckled the world in patterns of light that varied with the time of day.

Above all else though, there was food everywhere, in all shapes and sizes and colors.

The Goblin, unlike the rest of its kin, climbed high and swung recklessly through the trees above, reveling and basking in the sun's warmth. As a reward for its boldness and penchant for exploration, the Goblin had seen things and tapped resources its brethren did not know of. Its secret stash, its prized possession, was its knowledge of this world above.

They did not know of the red fruits, hidden high above the ground, nor the white eggs nestled in woven baskets. They did not know of the various berries and fragrant plants it had tried and tasted, some bitter and some tantalizingly sweet. The way of weaving long grass into nets, and capturing the things which jumped. They did not know all of the food that lay just outside of their cave, and instead gnashed their teeth and wailed in hunger and anger.

The only thing they knew was meat from the cave beasts, and the pursuit of those elusive creatures who spoke with words.

It was a time of scarcity, and though the food was less filling than the meat of those with words - which the Goblin had only tasted once in its youth - if it ate enough of its secret bounty for long enough, it felt satisfied all the same. There was sweet, and that was enough.

The Goblin would not share this with them, it was its own, and they would try to steal it. The Goblin would not allow that. To take from others was a symbol of power and status, to mark oneself as superior, and the other as inferior. The Goblin was the one who stole, not them. This had already been established.

If they were too afraid of the beasts that roamed above, or too picky to eat anything besides meat, then it was their own fault they were starving.

They deserved it.

The Goblin plodded along, and looked up above towards the canopy. A few careful moments of searching and its amber eyes landed on a spot of glossy red, nestled between two thin branches. It licked its lips and inhaled the scent of grass and sap. The faintest aroma of something sweet could be detected, permeating the entire forest. The sweet was forever up here, as it should be.

Without a second thought it took a running start and placed a foot against the bark of a nearby tree. One foot followed another, and it quickly pushed off, leaping as high as it could to grab hold of a low hanging branch. If one looked closely, they would see a few spots of bark on the tree looking rather well worn from repeated climbs.

Climbing trees was not natural for Goblins, but it had proven useful and paid richly for all of the bumps and bruises the Goblin had accumulated in pursuit of the skill. That wasn't to say that Goblins couldn't climb, but crawling around in caves and vaulting over rocks wasn't the same as scaling trees. Their height generally made it too difficult, and more trouble than it was worth.

It just didn't occur to most of them, really.

Determine possible footholds, assess their integrity, determine the quickest route, and execute. Practiced hands looped through branches and grasped at deformities in the wood. It used its momentum and strength together to haul itself up quickly along its path.

Yes, even if the others found out where the Goblin was getting its extra food, most would have great trouble developing this skill to the same extent as the Goblin had.

There was a plethora of good reasons that most Goblins often lived in caves, and one of them was the fact that there were so many large predators that stalked the lands both day and night. Not just those who had words, but the four legged, the hair covered, and the winged.

Only a sufficiently large, and daring nest could expand permanently into the surface world, and almost always this was at the behest of a Goblin Lord planning a Campaign. Typically, once a Goblin Lord was bold enough to go on major offensives, it was only a matter of time before it was permanently put back in its place by those with words.

Still, even with this general knowledge of what was to come, Goblins, Hobgoblins, and even Champions all flocked to a Goblin Lord's side. They were unable to resist their base instincts, the Goblin lord's charisma, and the call to rape and pillage to their heart's content.

The Goblin scoffed at that. They didn't understand the art of subtlety at all.

Traveling along the ground opened up a sole Goblin to many dangers, but in the trees it wasn't exactly safe either. No, the Goblin while did bask in the sun and the bounty of nature, it was not careless in any way. For all the speed and fluidity in its ascent, it never stopped surveying its surroundings. Caution and subtlety went hand in hand after all.

At last the glossy red fruit lay within arm's reach, and the earth brlow seemed small. The branches here were thinner, but still thick enough to support the Goblin's light weight. It's amber eyes roamed across the surface of the fruit, catching the way the sunlight shined softly along the edges. The way the shadows danced across its vivid red surface, and the quiet breeze rustled leaves against it. The smooth, round curvature of the sweet, juicy orb...

It was fundamentally appealing.

The Goblin reached out with one free arm, and plucked the fruit with ease. The scent of sweet was refreshing, but not intoxicating as it bit into the skin with a soft crunch.

Satisfaction was instant. It was soft, but not too much. Sweet, red, and juicy. Soft and sweet, but not too wet, that was the best.

Soft. Sweet. Juicy. Sweet...

The Goblin's mind melded into a pleasant haze of cyclical thoughts as it nestled itself among the most secure branches, and laid down to feel the sun's warmth. It blinked its sleep crusted eyes heavily, and carefully positioned a few leaves and branches over them to block out the bits of light that hit his eyes. Only small flecks of clear, cloudless blue were visible above.

From up here, above most of the other branches, it could see for miles if it cared to look. A sea of green stretched out before it, with lines of blue gently cutting around and winding their way into the distance. Great triangles and shapes of grey lay farther out, their tops dusted with white and their sizes almost too big to comprehend.

Fruit was good. Trees were good. This was good.

The soft caress of sleep brushed at its mind, beckoning the Goblin to finally submit. It made itself more comfortable, and secured itself with a bit of grass rope tied around its waist like a belt just in case. It suckled and licked at its juice covered fingers as it finished the last of its snack, and gazed out into the distance until its mind faded away.

The last thought that ran through the Goblin's mind was a simple question. Likely nothing more than idle curiosity.

How big was the fruit from the tree behind the grey triangles?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect me to update quickly, or on any set time/schedule at all really. I seem to write in random, infrequent bursts throughout the week.
> 
> That said, if you're interested in the fic or enjoying it, please comment or drop me a dank kudos. It'll probably motivate the hell out of me to keep working on this.
> 
> Feed my gluttonous ego.


	3. Of Training and Trackers

By the time the sun reached its zenith, the entire group had worked up a good sweat, and the Crusader could smell most of them from a few feet away.

The Boy had it significantly easier thanks to his lighter armor, but it was obvious even with that in consideration that his prior training played a much larger role in keeping him comparatively dry.

The Crusader took a moment around noon to give them a break. During that period, he lectured them on the importance of both maintaining stamina and keeping Goblins from smelling them. There were a few questions and he ended up going off on a few minor tangents, but it was all generally useful info to know.

The Boy was largely silent through all of this, and went through the motions much faster than the rest once they got back at it. The Crusader wanted to keep physically conditioning them, but knew that he needed to make sure the Boy stayed engaged mentally.

He split the recruits into two groups, and made sure to distribute the rookies and veterans evenly. The Boy ended up with two farmhand brothers, an out of breath looking young woman with short black hair, a grizzled man with an eyepatch, and a large fellow whose beard seemed distinctly dwarven from its length and obvious grooming.

The Crusader declared that these would be their ‘Parties' for the forseeable future, and guided them through a teambuilding exercise.

The exercise was simple, but effective. They each surrounded one member of their party with wooden poles, and tried to strike them while the lone party member dodged as long as they could. Once the lone member had been struck ten times, they were to give a detail about themselves that was previously unknown, and swap out with one of the attackers.

The exercise's purpose was threefold. For the attackers, it was meant to build teamwork, and help get a sense of positioning when ganging up on targets. For the lone defender, being unable to attack back meant they were forced to acknowledge all of the weaknesses of fighting alone against superior numbers, while highlighting the importance of their armor's protection and maintaining formation. Lastly, it was generally assumed that the groups would be cycling out relatively quickly, and as such would be sharing plenty of information and learning about their parties.

The Crusader paced around the two groups, observing them and giving pointers and instructions as they went along.

Things went about as well as expected, with the veterans lasting far longer than the rookies, and the Boy was practically untouchable thanks to his lighter armor. Still, eventually even he grew tired after several minutes of nonstop dodging, got tagged out, and the cycle repeated. Numbers mattered.

The Crusader knew the Boy had an unfair advantage, but it wasn't all that important in the long run. Sure, it undermined the importance of their armor a bit seeing the Boy's words proven, but it was still valuable experience for all involved. Goblins were quite small targets after all, and the Boy's prior training was really showing here.

The Crusader ended up learning just as much about his recruits as they did each other by the time they were finished. He sifted through the information he gathered quickly, and built short mental profiles of each one. Not everyone had volunteered highly personal information, but he had enough to infer their general personalities and motivations.

The Boy had been the least forthcoming with personal details, but that really wasn't a problem. Everyone already knew what he was about.

Instead of giving his life story or something as asinine as a list of his favorite foods, he mostly just shared useful and informative bits of trivia about ways he'd killed Goblins in the past. The Crusader was honestly just fine with that – it was like having an assistant helping him teach.

The others in the Boy's group were a bit more forthcoming.

Of the farmhands, the Older Brother was the most promising. He was broad of shoulder with an angular face and scraggly blonde hair. He hated the Goblins for destroying their father's farm and robbing them of their future. He and his brother didn't really have a place to go afterwards, and just happened to be lucky enough to be approached by a CARNAGE recruiter.

The Older Brother resented the adventurer's guild for rejecting their request for aid until they had enough money, and then once they had scrounged up the funds, nobody cared enough about goblins to pick up the job in time. He was haggard in spirit, but resolved to do what was necessary, and had a suitable amount of spite. There was great potential for molding there.

The Younger Brother was friendly enough at first glance, but turned hotheaded and aggressive the moment goblins were mentioned.

Apparently he had been sweet on one of the girls who helped work their farm, and she'd been taken by the Goblins. The Crusader genuinely felt sympathy for the Younger Brother, but it was a story he was all too familiar with. She'd have been better off dying than becoming a brood mother to a nest of Goblins.

Alas, nothing could be done about it now.

That righteous fury would have to be honed and tempered before the Younger Brother could be anything less than a liability to his party. He was lean and strong, with similar features to his Older Brother, but training one's mind was just as important as training one's body. He would learn patience and restraint in time.

The grizzled man with the eyepatch was a Former Captain in this nation's military, as it turned out. This fellow had especially caught the Crusader's attention as he shared bits and pieces of his past.

The Former Captain had fought in the war against the Demon King 5 years ago in one of the great battles, helping to distract the Demon King's forces and create an opening for the Heroes. He hadn't been anyone integral to the fight, but he'd served all the same and took great pride in it.

That is, until he came home from the war and found out his daughter and son in law had been victims of Goblins while he was off fighting.

After that he'd lobbied and pushed over and over for the nation to do something about the Green Menace once and for all, only to be ignored and dismissed time and again. Eventually the Former Captain gave up and abandoned his post in frustration to go work as a mercenary.

The Crusader felt a deep sense of empathy and resonance with this man's tale. It seemed to prove just about everything he'd been complaining of for years.

The Former Captain's dark hair, massive build, and eyepatch made him quite intimidating, but his experience and calm under pressure would be invaluable. His skills were nothing to scoff at either. After the Boy, he had shown the single best performance in the drill. If he'd been in light armor, he might have even matched the Boy, despite his bulk.

Apparently, the Former Captain's missing eye had done little to curb his battlefield awareness. The Crusader already had a number of plans in mind for him.

Then there was the bearded one… What could be said about him?

He'd claimed to have been adopted and raised by a dwarven clan, and became an adventurer once he reached adulthood. He’d hoped to bring honor to his clan, but shortly after he'd begun adventuring and taking requests, he realized just how many rookies were actually getting wiped out by Goblins. It hadn't sat well with him as he began looking into the details more, and after watching several more promising youths vanish with little fanfare or care from the guild, he'd decided to step up to the task.

Well, he'd confessed that there was no way he'd have made the choice to go goblin hunting exclusively without seeing just how deep CARNAGE's funding went. Goblins just weren't good money at the end of the day. A man had to eat, after all.

The Clansman’s beard was long and immaculately groomed and braided, and his features were flushed and jolly. If it weren't for his great size, the Crusader could easily picture him as an actual dwarf. The Crusader could definitely see the dwarven influences on the man after about the fifth time he started rattling off a list of favorite foods and ales.

That made the Crusader frown.

CARNAGE wasn't officially a Human Supremacist group, but it couldn't be denied that a large number of their most important members and backers subscribed to that school of thought. It would be a bit more difficult for the experienced adventurer to form connections within the organization than others.

Still, the rest of his party seemed to get along with him, and he seemed fairly competent, so it didn't matter too much right now. He might never reach an important rank, but he'd be an effective and valuable comrade to those on the frontlines. He wouldn't drag down those he fought alongside.

Which brought the Crusader's attention to the single biggest problem with this batch – the girl.

She'd claimed to be a boy, and insisted she was the son of a simple commoner. The Crusader could tell a lie from a long ways off, and she was neither a man nor a commoner. The way she stood, spoke, and acted – it reeked of a pampered and proper lifestyle. This was clearly some nobleman's upstart daughter who wanted to go off on an adventure like in some fairy tale she'd read.

He had almost given her the boot on the spot and hunted down whoever had recruited her, but he stopped himself.

Women were not barred from CARNAGE, but lying about that sort of thing was liable to get someone killed. The noses of goblins were extremely sensitive to young, fertile women, especially humans and elves. A woman on her time of the month would likely be detected before they even came close to a nest, and a number of extra steps had to be taken to deal with this.

If they were virgin? Even worse.

Goblins would go into a mating frenzy and fight tooth and nail to get her, they couldn't resist. This wasn't necessarily as bad thing if it was being intentionally used to bait them out, but it was still an extremely risky and dangerous tactic. There were countless other, safer options.

But lying about all this to her comrades from the very start? That was just asking for them to be ambushed and wiped out in the dark.

If that was going to happen she might as well just walk into the nearest Goblin nest unarmed and wearing one of those stupid leather fetish suits that people called armor, held up a sign that said ‘free breeding stock', and spread her legs for the abominations. At least then she wouldn't drag down anyone else with her.

The Crusader's blood boiled, but he kept his composure.

There was a significant chance that she was a runaway, in which case her parents might be important or wealthy enough to properly show their gratitude for their daughter's safe return. Failing that, he was willing to give her exactly one shot to explain why she should be allowed to stay.

Her lack of athleticism certainly wasn't a selling point, at least.

He didn't personally care what her story was at this point, but if she made it through the day, he'd be speaking with her privately about this regardless.  Perhaps it was his sense of duty, or some glimmer of potential in her he'd subconsciously gleaned, but he wanted to give her a shot.

Anyone who truly wanted to kill Goblins couldn't be called entirely useless after all.

As the day wore on, he didn't let up on the recruits. One drill after another, he put them through their paces. This first week was meant to be as physically demanding as possible, before they started working on the more cerebral and technical aspects of Goblin extermination.

He could already see a few of them struggling greatly, unused to this kind of exertion. The Boy was doing well, but even he was being pushed. Some of the more veteran recruits were already used to this type of thing, and handled it admirably.

The Crusader fondly remembered his own experiences with this kind of thing, but like hell did he want to participate himself. He mostly spent his time berating or encouraging them to do better. In the Noble Girl's case it was mostly berating, but she was miraculously still on her feet so he had to give her credit for defying his expectations.

As the sun began to set he looked at them all with a little bit of pride and smirked.

Chests heaving, armor covered in grass and dirt, and movements dulled, they were far from being worth the equipment they were wearing, but it was a start. This was sufficient.

“Alright, that's enough for the day!” the Crusader shouted, his voice carrying across the courtyard easily.

There were a number of relieved voices, and the sound of heavy exhales as the group slowed to a halt. The Younger Brother and the Noble Girl both instantly collapsed into metallic heaps next to eachother. The crusader gave them a moment to catch their breath before powering on through.

"Alright, gather up around me, you're done with drills but the sun is still out and I need to give you some announcements and instructions.”

He watched as a few of the recruits removed their helmets and dragged themselves over. The Boy didn't bother removing his, and the two on the ground were slow to rise. He felt a small flash of irritation.

“Come on, hop to it! Bring it in!” The Crusader snapped.

Eventually, the entire group had gathered around him. They were a bit slower than he'd have liked, and the stench of sweat was pretty heavy, but they looked a little more alert now that they'd caught their breaths. He nodded and got right into it, pacing in front of them slowly.

“That was good work today from all of you. You're not ready to field yet, not by a long shot, but by the end of your training you'll be solid as steel.” He thumped his armor covered chest with a metallic clank.

“We can't afford to train or hone our skills in peace for years, not when the threat of the Green Plague multiplies by the day – no, by the hour. We simply don't have the time for that kind of luxury. That's why we have to condense years of work and learning into a short few weeks. This program will last just over a month, and in that time you will be pushed hard - harder than most of you can imagine.”

The Crusader's eyes flitted between each of them, his words hard and strong. How they reacted would give him insight into their work ethic. He needed to know who would require additional motivation, and who he could rely on to be self-sufficient.

“Mentally and physically, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, you will be tested. You will find your limits and surpass them. Each and every one of you is a blade, and you will be honed to perfection. You will become peerless weapons, whose sole purpose lies in exterminating the vile abominations who have infected this world.”

The crusader stopped and gazed seriously at them. Not a single one looked away or had any air of inattentiveness. Good.

It was silent in the courtyard for several moments. The only sounds were the rustle of wind across the grass, and slow, deep breaths. The twilight cast shadows across the grounds, and the dark walls of the Fairfax Estate seemed much taller in that moment. In that dying light, the Crusader gazed upon the shadow-streaked faces of his recruits and saw only determination.

His next words were soft, but clear.

“You've each experienced it in one way or another. Some of you directly, others less so." He spoke, gazing at each recruit individually.

"Livelihoods destroyed…" The Older Brother's tired eyes hardened.

"The loss of a loved one…" the Younger Brother gripped his helmet tightly.

"Unsuspecting youths swallowed by a danger they didn't fully comprehend." The Clansman grunted under his breath at that. It was a little on the nose.

"Friends or family who have suffered at the hands of Goblins, and never truly recovered." Several members of the other party shuffled a bit.

The Boy still hadn't visibly reacted, and his helmet wasn't making it as ny easier to read him. It'd be nice to know what made him tick, but his zeal was enough. Whatever happened to give him those terrible eyes and dead expression was perhaps better left unspoken.

"One way or another, we all share that one aspect; the Green Plague has touched our lives, and those of countless others around us. They destroy and defile everything they touch, but no one does anything to stop it.” a bit of genuine emotion leaked into his voice at that, but he remained resolute.

He'd given this kind of speech many times already, and it was nothing new. The Crusader had become rather adept at public speaking as a matter of course, so the words were second nature to him at this point. Even if it was rehearsed though, it still came from a place of deep empathy, and that would always shine through. In his opinion, nothing could replace genuine passion.

The recruits were visibly affected, at the very least.

The Younger Brother's face was a little more red than before, and his Older Brother’s jaw was rigid. Both the Former Captain and the Clansman's faces had noticeably tightened. The Noble Girl had the decency to look somber. Every one of them knew why they were there.

They knew what was at stake.

“But you can. That's why you're here. You're here because you want to do what no one else will. You want to end the Green Plague. To exterminate them. To slay the last of their kind, and reclaim what is rightfully yours." In that moment he caught a glimpse of the tiniest movement from the Boy, a mere shift of the head.

One of the Boy's hazel eyes burned violently as a stray sunbeam pierced the iron bars of his helm. It almost looked crimson in the orange light of the setting sun. He looked breathtakingly murderous.

“I'll maul those shrimpy bastards!!” shouted the Younger Brother, stealing a bit of the Crusader's thunder and drawing a few eyes. The moment was gone now, but the Crusader couldn't really chastise him for it when he was just praising the Boy's zeal a second ago.

He just rolled with it.

“You will. All of you will, and CARNAGE will help every one of you maximize your effectiveness.” he replied in a placating tone.

The Crusader ceased his slow, meandering pacing and stood up straight. It was time to turn down the passion, and get them focused on the work ahead. He cleared his throat before continuing.

“For the next week, you are going to go through grueling physical conditioning. You will remain in your armor at all times during this period, in order to acclimatize to its weight as rapidly as possible. You will eat in it, you will sleep in it, you will train in it and you will study in it.”

The Noble Girl raised her hand and asked a question that only reinforced his belief in her wealthy upbringing.

“What about bathing and repairs sir?”

He bit back a scathing remark. It was a valid question, so he could not chastise her anymore than he could the Younger Brother. He instead kept his stern features neutral and answered her question.

“The only time you are authorized to remove it will be a 15 minute bath at 9PM, or in the event that it needs repairs and maintenance.”

“You said we could talk to you about modifications or changing it up?” the Older Brother abruptly asked, catching the Crusader slightly off guard when several others nodded in support of the question.

“Yes.” He nodded.

"How much can we change the overall design?" The Clansman spoke up.

Why were they allso hung up on that? When the farmhands and a few others glanced surreptitiously towards the Boy, the Crusader understood. He looked far more composed than the others in his raggedy looking hybrid armor. Ah, they felt like they'd been cheated.

“If you'd like to change up your armor, that is fine so long as you can explain what you want to do, and how it will be more beneficial than our standard loadout. The Quartermaster will coordinate with you on the finer details of what can and cannot be done."

Looks like he'd be having that conversation about their uniforms much earlier in the week than he'd expected. The Boy had opened the floodgates, it seemed.

"I will warn you, however, that if you are asking to change it just because you don't want to work as hard, you're only cheating yourself and your party.”

“I'd never do that.” The Younger Brother grunted, as though the comment had been directed at him personally.

“Quite.” Moving on. They were getting derailed quickly.

“Anyways, we've been generously provided use of the Fairfax Estate's facilities for training, as well as food and lodging. It goes without saying, but treat all off the staff and residents of our benefactors with the utmost respect. As long as you wear the colors of CARNAGE, your actions reflect those of the organization as a whole. If you behave poorly or offend our gracious hosts in any way, there will be repercussions.”

While they appeared to be listening intently still, he could tell that the moment he'd mentioned food a few had begun to mentally check out. Better wrap this up.

“Last things. Curfew is at 10pm, and you'll be bunking in the guard house on the north side of the estate. Don’t be out on the grounds after that or you're doing laps. There will be food for you after you finish bathing, which again is mandatory, and lasts 15 minutes at 9pm. You'll have about half an hour of free time if you eat quickly. Both me and the Quartermaster will be available during that timeframe, if you need to ask questions or discuss anything, so spend what you have wisely.”

They were getting antsy, but he was almost done.

“You, and you, come see me before lights out tonight, I need to talk to you.” He pointed at the Boy and the Noble Girl.

The Boy didn't react at all, and remained completely still. The latter seemed a bit startled and slightly wary, as if she suspected what he had figured out already. He was reminded of a rabbit perking its ears up just before a bird of prey swooped down out of the sky and sunk its claws into it.

She wasn't quite wrong if that was the case.

“Alright, everyone. You are all dismissed! Go hit the baths, you're rancid. The Quartermaster will be waiting for you with directions.” he shouted with a jovial lilt and a grin, clapping his hands loudly.

With that, the group began to disperse towards the main compound with varying levels of speed and energy. The Crusader watched for a bit as some of them grouped together and began talking along the way.

The Younger Brother seemed to have an abundance of energy left over, and was trying to solicit the Boy and Noble Girl about something. There was no way of telling what was being said at this distance, but he could clearly see how animated the Younger Brother was. The Young woman was nodding tiredly at him and saying something back with a casual wave of the hand. If the Boy was responding it couldn't be proven, but the glances towards him every now and then indicated the possibility.

The Clansman slowed down from his hunger induced jog, and appeared to be adding his two cents with a grin. The Noble Girl suddenly reeled back and looked completely aghast at something. There was a bit of laughter, and the Crusader smiled to himself.

Their bonding was a good thing, but it wasn't the most important factor in generating success.

This region's CARNAGE branch was a mere fledgling group currently, and it needed a solid core of elite experts to act as its foundation. The Crusader fit that criteria, but he was only one man, the seed. It was this generation, this batch of rookies who were meant to form the roots. Right now they were still new and vulnerable, so sheltering them and nurturing them was necessary, but they wouldn't stay that way long.

In time, they would bear fruit, but in order to grow, there was one thing they would need above all else.

They needed blood.

They needed to slit the throats of Goblins by the drove, and drench themselves in it. Grab the vermin by their throats and squeeze until their little heads popped off. Spray the world in red and drown the abominations in their own bodily fluids. The stinking green corpses would pile high and act as fertilizer, but this vicious plant called CARNAGE was one that could only grow through blood.

But not yet. They weren't quite ready yet.

Some were much further along than others, but even the Boy wasn't fully indoctrinated just yet. He was completely dedicated to Goblin Slaying, but not to CARNAGE. He had plenty of experience with the former already, that much was obvious.

The Boy was simultaneously the most easy to understand of the recruits, and the most independent as well. Keeping him interested in the organization and getting him to buy into CARNAGE would be a challenge. Once they knew for sure that the Boy wouldn't just fly off and go rogue though, there was so much potential that they could tap.

Hell, eventually the Crusader might even be able to take the kid gloves off completely around him.

He chuckled a little at that thought.

They’d get their chance, oh yes, he'd make sure of that. They'd drink their fill, very, very soon.

In the last remnants of the sun's light, the growing shadows slowly twisted and warped his friendly smile into something savage.

Soon.

 ------------------------------------------------------------

The Goblin snapped awake, amber eyes alert and darting around in an instant.

Its senses had alerted it to danger, and though the source was not yet visible, it could be heard.

The Goblin was utterly still. It listened carefully to the sound of footsteps quietly plodding through the grass below. They were quiet, but not like the Goblins' sneaky stepping by a long shot - It was the best at sneaky stepping and sneaky stealing.

Slowly, carefully, the Goblin extricated itself from its position, keeping balance on the tree branches as it shifted its weight. The handmade grass rope securing it helped, but it would need to be removed soon. If the Goblin needed to move, it wouldn't be able to get far.

The Goblin gradually rotated its body towards the ground, away from the starry night sky. Amber eyes peered through the gaps between leaves, their faint glow heavily muted and dulled.

Crunch. Rustle. Snap.

Three of them. Heavy. Larger than the Goblin. Bipedal.

The Goblin concluded all of this with just sound. Its eyes were not hindered by the dark, but the foliage was dense, and it couldn't smell anything besides the familiar stench of Goblins.

That didn't make sense at all. Not out here.

It had just washed a day ago, so its own scent was extremely faint, and its murder victim earlier had been clean and bloodless. The next most obvious suspects would be a group of its nest mates out scouting, but…

Its eyes narrowed.

None of the Goblin's nest mates were as big as it, let alone even bigger. It’d never met outside tribes, but somehow it could scarcely imagine them being that different in scale.

No, this couldn't be Goblins, but the scent made it think otherwise.

It took another slow, deep sniff through its short, crooked nose. If it focused carefully, it could smell something else underneath the stench of its kin, but it couldn't quite place the mystery odor. It was frustratingly familiar, like it had smelt it in a dream or something.

The Goblin made a faint noise and slowly rubbed at its prominent chin in thought, waiting to catch a glimpse of the elusive creatures below.

It was aggravating - it could hear them sneaking, but not see them. It needed to consider getting closer, but it didn't want to risk alerting them. The Goblin mentally debated for a bit, before settling on a cautious approach. It began quietly unraveling the grass rope around its waist with one arm, and continued to cast its darting gaze down through the canopy.

It couldn't be Hobgoblins either, since the nest had definitively executed their last one a while ago. Wanderers were incredibly unlikely – three Hobgoblins together wouldn't bother with sneaking. Even on the off chance that three met in the wilds, they'd have been hard pressed to avoid killing one another over resources.

Hobgoblins were takers by nature, and there was a reason most nests only took in one at a time. Those that had that had the resources to support more than one usually just wound up with a single Hobgoblin in the end anyways.

Think… What could this be? The Goblin scent was pretty thick, a little familiar now that it thought about it, and there was something else beneath it…

‘Come on you stupid Rakash, this should be simple to figure out!’ the goblin thought to itself.

Moments later it finally dawned on the Goblin. Not because of some great epiphany, but because it heard the light clank of metal getting closer.

And voices.

Actual voices, with words. Not the pseudo langauge that all goblins seemed to innately understand, but something foreign and previously unheard. Words whose meanings the Goblin could only barely parse the meanings of through their intonation, as well as some strange amalgamation of intuition and familiarity.

This was a group of those with words. These were not Goblins.

It was instantly on high alert. The clanking got a bit louder, though it was still just as muffled as the rest of the sound in the area.

When had the sound become so muffled? This wasn't natural.

‘Magic' something inside of it whispered.

The Goblin knew that it wasn’t wrong when it saw the grass quietly depress itself in the shape of several larger humanoid footprints, with no sign of anything to cause it. It peered as hard as it could into the shadows, determined to pierce this bizarre illusion through sheer determination and attention to detail. It had seen the Shaman do magic enough times to understand the basic idea, but it had no real comprehension of the details yet.

The Shaman jealously guarded all of its secrets. Couldn't have others learning and usurping it, could it?

The Goblin's amber eyes glinted and shined in the faint starlight as its entire focus was drawn to the area above the footprints. It could just barely make out the outlines of three figures moving slowly through the glade.

One was big and seemed strong, one was short and had pointy ears, and the last was in between them wearing something that just barely dragged and brushed against the grass behind it. Further staring garnered little more visibility, but it continued to try and make out what they were saying and understand the incomprehensible.

The Goblin knew for certain that they were dangerous now since they were skulking about with magic, but it didn't know the reason for it. It strained its eyes and ears as much as possible as it slowly began moving through the tree tops to get a better vantage point.

Its mind latched onto that tiny part of itself that instinctively understood the intent behind noises – the part that made the Goblin ‘language' possible without any real words of their own. All Goblins either had it from birth, or developed it shortly afterwards. Without that innate innate ability to understand one another's intent through just sound, Goblins could not possibly coordinate or thrive as much as they had.

Those who lacked it were essentially nothing more than very stupid and violent animals, and were killed off quickly. They were just a drain on resources after all.

That said, it wasn't perfect by any means, and it didn't always work. Overly long or complex messages couldn't be conveyed, and it wasn't true communication. Most Goblin conversations boiled down to basic concepts like ‘kill', ‘sneak', or ‘over there'.

They weren't stupid, not all of them. In fact, a few like the Shaman and the Goblin were extremely smart, but their intellect was limited by a hard cap called ‘language'. There was only so much that one could do without an inner voice. Truly, it was all the more reason to hate those with words.

No pointless, repeated conversations over and over to understand that there was no food. No having to grab a Goblin by the head and smash them into the wall repeatedly before they understood that they needed to shut up. No listening to the Shaman raving at others around it shouting ‘angry angry angry angry stupid Rakash nothing outside nothing eat angry no fat!’ at the nest. No seeing their yellow eyes glaze over with disinterest and lack of comprehension until one pipes up with the brilliant idea ‘food?’ and the others point at it like it’s the most genius thing in the world.

No watching the Shaman itself come down from its brittle throne of animal bones, and beat the alleged genius over the head with its staff and chase it around the nest in fury.

The Goblin shook its head and focused in again, straining its senses as it crept along in the treetops behind the magically cloaked trio. It could just barely understand their hushed words, just barely make out their movements.

But it was enough.

The Pointy Eared one, it was stooped low to the ground, hunched over in a very mobile sort of crouch as it moved. The Goblin was distinctively reminded of the way it had learned to walk itself - not entirely upright, but short and low enough to the ground that it could get through tight spaces, roll, and sneak easily. This one was saying something with a raspy whisper.

“Tracks change up ahead.”

What? Tracks? It looked around for any signs of the land beasts. Were they hunters?

“How so?” the large one grumbled darkly.

The Goblin could tell it was trying to be quiet, but its voice was just naturally loud.

“Second one was dragged towards the riverbed from this point, but it was walking before that.” The pointy eared one whispered.

Dragged? River? A cold chill ran up the Goblin's spine.

They were talking about the Goblin it had strangled and dumped in the river. Had they found the body? It mentally cursed itself as it realized that its own actions may have brought them here.

“Infighting?” the last one asked with a soft, deep baritone.

“Maybe, the tracks are a bit strange. The two came from the east together, but there's signs of a struggle right here.”

The trio had come to a full stop right where the Goblin had made its kill earlier.

“You said the one that did the dragging might have been a Hob?” asked the Big One.

“Not sure, still too small for one I think. Its probably about as big as that Dwarf we met a few days ago at full height.” The pointy eared one murmured, and held out an arm towards the ground.

The Goblin could barely make out a faint glow, emanating from its palm and illuminating the ground for a few feet, but no further. That light seemed to weaken the illusion magic just enough to make out additional details.

The Pointy Eared one had wild eyes, and a dark expression that heralded the intent to kill. Its face was soft, smooth, and streaked with copious amounts of blood. Between the halfway translucent red markings the Goblin eyed fair skin, the likes of which it had never seen before. It appealed to some of its baser instincts, but the overwhelming sense of danger from the group easily suppressed those.

Upon closer inspection the blood was spattered more like war paint, and done so intentionally, on each of their faces and bodies. But why would...? It hit the Goblin then.

'Goblin blood.' It realized.

That explained the scent, they'd masked themselves with the blood of the Goblin that it had killed earlier. Clever.

The Big One was covered in metal from head to toe, and had horns coming from its armored head. A thick looking cudgel of some sort was gripped in its hand, and a flat plate of wood and steel was strapped to its arm. The latter didn't seem to match the rest of its appearance, but it looked just as worn down and dirty as the rest of it.

The final one wore bits of metal as well, but far less. It had some type of purple cloth hanging from its waist, and similarly colored garb draped over its head and shoulders that reminded the Goblin of the Shaman. Dark skin and shadowed features could barely be discerned under the hood, but its scowl and blood spattered cheeks were clear when it drew closer to the Pointy Eared one and spoke.

“Are we thinking a wanderer?” it asked, the rich depth of its voice slightly obscured by the wavering of magic in the air.

“No.” pointy ears shook its head.

“Probably adolescent, if it is a Hob. It’s too borderline. And an adolescent wouldn't leave a nest full of easy food unless it was wiped and forced to flee.” There was truth in these words, but it felt strange hearing them compare the Goblin to a Hobgoblin all the same.

Hell, it was strange just hearing words at all. The Goblin felt a sense of rage building on top of its previous jealousy of their speech. It wanted those words. It wanted to steal them. Make it so they never spoke again. They didn't deserve anything.

It stopped and analyzed its own thoughts for a moment, before sidelining that business for a less dangerous time. Ignore the instincts. Clear thoughts only right now.

“CARNAGE has no record of a nest being cleared here.” The Big One muttered darkly.

Carnage, what was that? It sounded like a name, but the Goblin also thought it sounded like ‘much violence' as well. Damn, stupid words.

“And there was a small caravan logged as a month overdue at the tree too.” Pointy Ears chipped in.

“So a nest is confirmed, with at least one potential Hob.” The Purple One concluded.

“East of here. If we follow the trail we'll likely find it.” Pointy Ears nodded, and let the faint illumination end, casting the group back into shadow. Internally the Goblin was cursing its own carelessness.

‘You Rakash, you lead them straight to the nest!’ the Goblin thought to itself.

“Then let’s follow the trail and exterminate the vermin.” Came the big one's resolute declaration. The others nodded.

“I'll send a messenger hawk with an update about this to the HQ.” said the pointy eared one, standing up and putting its hands to its mouth.

The Goblin barely had time to wonder what an ‘HQ' was before pointy ears emitted a high pitched noise that made it wince. A winged beast swooped down uncomfortably close to where the Goblin was hiding and it went rigid. Somehow the bird didn't see it though, and landed on a slender outstretched arm. The trio spent only a moment scribing something with a feather on a tiny piece of parchment, before rolling it up tying it to the bird's leg. The Goblin stiffened as it swooped up through the trees again, and off into the night sky.

The trio began moving again, directly towards the nest.

This was a genuine conundrum. They were clever, and clearly prepared. The nest wasn't expecting them and their numbers were small. They were all weakened by hunger, and no longer had the Hobgoblin. Say what you would about them, but they were strong. Without it, they could never have pulled off the raid that produced the Goblin's unwilling mother.

Sure, it was only three enemies, but the armored Big One would slaughter them. An ambush with sheer numbers could work, but they lacked that. There was nothing they could do to get through that armor except rely on the Shaman, but the enemy had their own caster as well. Magic was the best counter to other magic, and their Shaman was unable to cast spells of their caliber yet.

The Goblin pondered all of this at a lightning pace, cycling through scenarios one by one. Ambush, evacuation, teamwork, magic. Again and again it came up with a singular, undeniable conclusion; if this trio reached the nest, it would be wiped out.

A sense of brief panic and something that could have passed for guilt filled the Goblin, knowing that this was entirely its own fault, and there was nothing it could do to fix it. That sensation quickly faded when a strange idea popped into its head.

‘Hey Rakash, who says you need to do anything?’ it thought to itself.

Wait, what?

‘You've got plenty of food out here. You’ll be just fine on your own.'

That was true, it could just keep living off of nature's bounty indefinitely.

'What have they ever done for you anyways?’ It asked itself bitterly.

The realization that it didn't actually care about its nest mates was a bit of a shock to the Goblin, but the more it thought about it the more it made sense. When had they done anything but be annoying or try to take things from the Goblin? Wasn't the Shaman thinking about having the Goblin killed? None of them trusted it, so why should it stick its neck out for them or risk itself trying to warn them?

More and more the Goblin thought this to itself, and its thoughts began to coalesce into a set of simple choices.

It could either leave them to die and continue to live in prosperity alone, or return to the cave and warn an ungrateful mob. When it was phrased like that, the answer was simple.

The Goblin settled back into a more comfortable position amidst the branches and watched as Pointy Ears led the others towards the cave. The Goblin no longer felt any remorse for its part in this. Its kind weren't stupid, but they were still just barely above sentient animals. This Goblin was the exception, not the rule. It felt only disdain for its lesser kin, it realized.

It suppressed a noise of minor disgust, and kept its eyes locked on the rapidly vanishing outlines of the trio. It was still wary of them, but there was a twist of something in its gut. Was it really okay with this?

Yes, it wouldn't bother interfering, but it wasn't like it actively hated its kin either. Well, okay maybe it did, but it probably hated the word speakers more. Letting them have their way just because they were stronger didn't sit well with the Goblin's pride.

It was the one who was supposed to take from others not them. That thought rattled around in its head for a good moment. Like a snowball rolling down a hill, it slowly gained both momentum, and substance.

Three on one was suicide. Even just one on one with the Big One was doomed to failure thanks to all that armor. The others though...

‘Don't you fucking dare.’ It cautioned itself, but the hairbrained scheme was already cooking.

A straight up confrontation was stupid, and had never been its style in the first place. It wasn't exactly wrong to call the Goblin the one who took, but it wasn't quite accurate either.

The Goblin was the one who stole.

‘I'm warning you Rakash, these guys are no joke, you're gonna get yourself killed for no damn reason.’ The logical part of its brain said.

If it was careful, if it was sneaky, maybe...

Maybe it could just even the odds a little.

‘@#%&!!’

Yes, this was doable. If it could trick them and separate them, it wouldn't be impossible to pull off. From there it could retreat to safety and play it by ear. If the nest was still wiped out afterwards, it lost nothing of value, and if the nest survived, then all the better.

‘Get the daggers, use the rope.’ It thought to itself, having resigned to indulge in this pointless, petty act of spite.

The Pointy Eared one was carrying a pair or dark, ornate looking curved daggers about as big as the Goblin's forearm. They were probably the single nicest looking weapons it had ever seen, despite their rather violent and wicked looking edges.

They appeared to be the Pointy Eared one's only visible weapons as well. The Deep Voiced one carried nothing but a staff, and the Big One just had its cudgel and shield. They had no ranged weaponry outside of whatever magic their caster could perform.

Yes, this would be well worth the risk.

‘Not really.’ its smarter half grumbled.

It still had plenty of time before they reached the nest. They were moving slowly and cautiously, but they weren't watching above. All the Goblin needed to do was think of this as a heist. If that was the case, then all it came down to was planning and execution.

Simple enough.

As the Goblin quietly pursued the trio from the treetops, a plan began solidifying in its mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went back and caught a few errors in my previous chapters. I usually write on my phone, and my autocorrect likes to just take my words and completely fuck everything into a gibbering mess.
> 
> In that sense, auto correct is like a Goblin. Yo, GS get over here and slay this shit. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who stopped by to read this dumpster fire. If you're somehow enjoying it, drop a Kudos or a comment on me so I know!


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